CAREFUL,
SOMEONE MIGHT THINK YOU ARE ANGRY AND TATTOOED or MOM IS ALWAYS RIGHT ABOUT
SNIDE REMARKS

My mistake(s)
- I took the A not the E train (from Manhattan to JFK) and due to an earlier incident
as the train operator referred to it, the train and its passengers, including
me, were late arriving barely 45 minutes before my scheduled flight to SFO. So
I ran, and made it into the corral by presenting my home ink-jet boarding pass
and my drivers license. Im really not sure how the situation deteriorated so
quickly; I wasnt pushing anyone or even sighing in frustration. It seemed to be
going OK, I had fed my belongings to the machine in the proper tubs and such -
until when emerging from the metal detector a TSA employee asked me Sir, do you
know where your property is? to which I mistakenly responded without thinking
about whether I was carrying luggage or property, Uh, I think its right there,
where else would it be? pointing in the direction of the x-ray machine and its
related treadmill apparatus.

Well, that was
apparently probable cause because after another TSA person turned to say looks
like we got live one,
or something to that effect, I was shifted into a holding pen, in which, in
retrospect, I realize I was to cool off despite the fact that I had 5 minutes
or so to board an aircraft, or miss it. After a couple of minutes another TSA
employee ran the hand wand over me for a few minutes, patted me down and
informed me that he would need to touch some areas. Then I was told to follow the first 2
workers to another area for the dig-through-everything session, where I was
told to sit down and first man (who Ill call Mr. Moustache), and who I was
learning liked to ask far-reaching and seemingly irrelevant questions, asked me
Why are you so angry? At this point, my traveling companion, who also became
suspect because of my insolence, was also being searched, and reported that three
different people spent some time sniffing her bag of chocolate brownies.
Meanwhile, my digging went on, with a series of other questions about where
I live, how many times do I come to NYC, whats the difference between NY and
California, etc. Then
Mr. Moustache became very concerned, while spreading my sundries all over the
table, to find a small bag of powdered laundry detergent. Well, you can imagine
my colossal blunder in thinking I could get away with this. It of course could
be fertilizer or at least cocaine. Let me just state here and now that it is
not lost on me that carrying this was idiotic. And that the soap has probably
gone all over the world in my travels of the last 10 years, and prior to 2001,
and been examined numerous times by security personnel including a flight 6
days prior.

Anyhow, I was
in for it and running down the jet way was out of the question. So after 2 or 3
more TSA personnel and some 5 or 6 of NYCs finest took good looks at the
laundry soap, asking me what is was, what would I do with laundry soap, what
kind of laundry soap it was, etc. Then Mr. moustache asked me again Why are you upset?,
pointed out a number of times that I shouldve left earlier and then asked for
my phone number, ya know, in case we need to call you. Of course the police
needed to know my contact information as well, I assume so if I ever travel
again I can go straight through to the detention center. Then we all sat or
stood there for a while, I guess to make sure my airplane took off without me.
Only after I asked the droopy-eyed notebook cop if we were waiting for anything
in particular, did he inform me that we were waiting for the bomb and/or
narcotic sniffing dogs.

Some time
later Mr. Moustache asked me if I had any tattoos, which although I guess he
expected me to rip off my shirt to reveal NRA and KKK logos on my chest, at the
moment the question struck me as absurd to the extent that I sort of went on a
mini-rant, wondering if it was likely that Id turn up in the east river and he
would be present to identify my body. That exchange was over when he shared the
fact that he didnt have any tattoo when I inquired. I came to realize that he
mustve been trained somewhere that people in a hurry are angry men with tattoos
and violent schemes.

Some time
after that I asked if the dogs were coming over from Manhattan, hence the
delay, but surprisingly they werent offended by that remark either.

Finally in an
appearance of 30 seconds, the lanky German Sheppard showed up, was set upon my
things that were strewn out on the examination table and was excited enough to
fling the grey tub that contained my shoes and jacket onto the floor. At least
it wasnt the tub with my laptop in it. The handler cop then said He aint got
nothin or something to
that effect and led the dog away.

Mr. Moustache
went on to call me Sir, inviting me to reassemble my bag, suggested that I have
a nice day, if possible and the droopy-eyed notebook cop looked at me and said
Its just standard procedure and then left me with this amazing offering, you can
just write your president.

Im not sure
that I have president or if I do whether he would care about my airplane
problems or laundry soap. But feeling like I would prefer that the cop had said
You are powerless, you may as well forget about it, I slinked on to my gate to figure out
how to get home.